A Big Plate Of Hate

It always makes me laugh when women don't have any idea how often they get their way. Men, partly because of their shallow desires to see these women naked, or maybe just to be gentlemanly, or even perhaps because they simply don't care enough to argue, allow the shit way too often.

Take, for example, Monday night. Old friend Brian was in town for a meeting, so we made plans to have dinner, and another friend of his was going to join.

As you know, I get nervous about venturing too far from the crib on schoolnights because of the still-difficult 5 a.m. wake-up call. I figure I'll meet Brian at his hotel, and Susie will do the same, and we'll be off with little trouble.

Because I live here and Brian doesn't, I took the liberty of looking up a few restaurants in the blocks around his hotel. I found a couple Thai joints and a Balkan restaurant, all of which seemed like low-maintenance, affordable dining that got good reviews for both food and atmosphere on menupages.com.

Despite the cold, Brian wanted to walk to find a place just to take in a little city flavor. Once he and Susie saw that my list had on it a couple of Thai restaurants, Susie must have thought it meant it was now time to nominate other Thai places with which she was familiar. It kills a girl to have no say in deciding where to eat or socialize. I know this. Then when you give up on your suggestions and you tell her that her preference "sounds good," they often reply, "it doesn't matter. I'll do whatever." Oh really. That's why you just complicated things, because you're so agreeable and satisfied with the existing plan?

Don't get me wrong; the gal is quite nice and turned out to be splendid to hang out with. This is not a new rant, more of a general one that just rekindled last night.

Anyway, she made a suggestion or two, but then we reverted back to the list I brought, and all seemed settled.

But then we walked downstairs and out to get a cab, and suddenly Susie figured it was cold enough to try to revisit our plan out in front of the hotel at 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Only makes sense.

So, what did we decide on? Pasti's, of course, a French joint in the meatpacking district. Girl gets her way after all.

Now I know I'm a little stubborn in my dealings with women at times, but in almost all cases, my stubbornness is often a reaction to the woman's initial stubbornness. A kind of she-started-it excuse, you could say.

But seriously, if I brought a list, and the places are nearby, and Brian hoped to walk somewhere, why take a cab somewhere else farther away after 9 o'clock on a weeknight to a place that only you suggested and where we'd end up standing waiting for a table for a half hour?

I don't want to sound like a chauvinist, but please feel free to enlighten me if that's what you think I am doing here.